


Skating to the Olympics

by merry_amelie



Series: Academic Arcadia [269]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 10:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13339563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_amelie/pseuds/merry_amelie
Summary: Our lads watch the men's competition in the U.S. Figure Skating Championships.





	Skating to the Olympics

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Helen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helen/gifts), [MissLearn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissLearn/gifts).



> Feedback: Is treasured at merryamelie@aol.com (or leave a comment).
> 
> Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
> 
> For  
> My beta team: Emila-Wan and Carol  
> Mali Wane and Laura McEwan for posting to the Master Apprentice ML  
> Travis for posting to the Master Apprentice Archive on AO3   
> Alex for inspiring Arcadia 
> 
> Skating info from [icenetwork.com](http://icenetwork.com/)
> 
> Arcadian references:  
> [Autumn Rhapsody](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1798075)  
> [The Wayfarers Inn](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4209435)  
> [Crushing the High Bar](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10669476)

The Winter Olympics couldn't come fast enough for Ian.

He had looked forward to them since the Sochi Games in 2014, which were the first ones that he and Quinn had skipped watching on purpose, because of Russia's draconian anti-gay laws. To his mind, it was a kind of poetic justice that the Russian athletes were banned from competing under their own flag at the PyeongChang Olympics this February, because of the systematic doping of their team. Now the Games were finally on the horizon, only a month away. He was happy he would be able to watch them again, without political considerations weighing him down and sapping the pleasure from one of his favorite sporting competitions.

It was the evening of Saturday, January 6th, and the temperature outside was minus two degrees Fahrenheit. Their home was surrounded by a carpet of almost two feet of accumulated snow on the grass of the front and back yards, but the two men had shoveled their sidewalk and driveway, as well as those of their elderly neighbors.

A cozy fire was crackling on the hearth; Quinn had brought in more wood from the back yard that afternoon when they had come home from Padua, after a delightful visit with Ian's parents. Before they'd eaten lunch there, they had been sure to shovel snow for Jo and Keith also. Luckily, the Mastersons were already taken care of, since they lived in an apartment building, one of the perks of having a super and his staff always on call.

Ian and Quinn were currently snuggled under their blue and green quilt on the couch, which they'd gotten on their first visit to The Wayfarers Inn; they wore their grey flannel pajamas, slightly frayed around the edges, but supremely comfortable in their ancient softness, along with pairs of thick cotton socks, which Ian had chosen as colorful stocking stuffers -- evergreen for Quinn and winter blue for himself -- both of which hues could be found in Ian's eyes.

Quinn had his arm around his husband's shoulders and loved the way Ian was cuddling into his pajama top. Soft copper spikes, with a whisper of the scent of Herbal Essence shampoo, tickled his chin. His considerate lad petted his stomach over the flannel, so he wouldn't lose any warmth, only gain it from his fhear-cheile's heat.

He was as warm as warm could be.

The flames in the fireplace were reflected in the coffee table in front of them, which had a cherrywood tray on it that held treats for their evening snack: a plate of Violet's butterscotch-pecan brownies, alongside two mugs of hot cocoa with a splash of rum and miniature marshmallows bobbing on the sea of chocolate. 

The TV was on, but the volume was so low that they could hear the crackling of the fire and the occasional snuffles of Sandy and Artoo.

The puppies were snuggled in their baskets in the kitchen -- just like their dads were on the couch -- under the blankets Violet had knitted for them. Sandy had come in to see what the rest of his family was doing and trotted back to the kitchen with a wave of his tail as soon as he saw the skating rink on TV; he'd had more than enough of winter already and couldn't understand why his dads wanted to see more of it.

The television was set to the U.S. Figure Skating Championships, since skating, gymnastics, and diving were their favorite sports to watch. Tonight was the night of the men's free skate, which was all but the Olympic Trials for a sport that didn't have any. One important difference was that the Olympics selection committee did not have to abide by the results.

Several skaters stood out, despite the professors' romantic embrace, especially when Ian nudged his herven with his sock on Quinn's calf to pay more attention to the action in the arena, instead of the action in the living room.

Nathan Chen did five quad jumps, showing once again that he was a favorite for the Olympic gold medal. His free skate was particularly impressive, given that he had been under the weather for most of the week. His ability to improvise on the ice to change-up his jumps at the last minute was arguably one of his best skills. He earned his second gold medal in a row tonight.

Ross Miner performed the program of his life, complete with a stand-out quad salchow, which he had missed four times in the last practice before the competition. He also did two triple axels, one in combination. His rousing music -- a medley of 'Queen' songs -- put a smile on Ian's face, as he softly sang along. Ross skated to the silver medal with his incredible performance.

Vincent Zhou completed a wonderfully challenging routine, fitting since he was the skater with the second-hardest program, behind Nathan. The problem was that he underrotated most of his five quad jumps and fell on one of them. His music was also one of Ian's favorites: songs from the movie 'Moulin Rouge'. This time when Ian sang, Quinn gazed at his lad in amazement -- Ian's singing was as masterful as the soundtrack to the movie itself. Christian the poet had come to life beside him. Vincent earned the bronze medal, moving up from 5th place in the short program.

Unfortunately, two of their other favorites had a rough time of it tonight.

Adam Rippon, who had been skating to near perfection for months, missed his opening quad, and popped two triples towards the end of his program. His 'Coldplay' music was a solid choice, and he skated to it beautifully, but the technical scores left him with no chance to make any of the three top spots. The men had a personal reason to root for him, because he was one of the few openly gay athletes in Olympic contention, a brave stance even in 2018. He ended up in fourth place with a pewter medal that night.

Jason Brown, who was the most artistic man in the field, had problems on almost all of his jumps and couldn't overcome that with his graceful, flowing edges. His music was lyrical and lilting, but his skating couldn't match it tonight. Until he had a dependable quad, it would be hard for him to medal. Jason wound up in 6th place.

Even though they were in each other's arms, Ian and Quinn's attention was mostly on the skating for the entire broadcast. They saved their kisses for the commercials and the repeated coverage. After the broadcast ended at 11, Quinn clicked off the TV, and they chatted about the results.

"Nathan and Ross were amazing tonight," said Ian, still feeling invigorated by their performances.

Quinn nodded into the soft copper spikes he so adored. "That they were, laddie. My heart goes out to Adam and Jason, though. Both of them were wonderful in the Grand Prix."

'Well, we'll find out what the Olympics selection committee decides tomorrow," Ian said. "Remember, they factor in their performances and placements over the last year, so it'll be tricky."

Quinn chuckled. "That's one committee you wouldn't want to be on." He loved to tease Ian about his fondness for administrivia and insistence on abiding by the rules to the letter. Quite a contrast to his own relaxed handling of departmental regulations.

"Can't wait for the Games to start," Ian said.

"You don't have that long to go now, lad," Quinn said. "February 8th will be here in a flash."

Ian said, "That's a Thursday, and my first exam will be on Monday of that week, so I'll be finished grading it by the time the coverage begins."

"You're teaching that 300-level course on English Romantic Poets this semester, right?" asked Quinn.

Ian nodded. "I'm starting with 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'. I wanted to get it out of the way before Valentine's Day, so I could have a holiday-themed poem on that Wednesday."

Quinn asked, "Have you chosen it yet?"

"Yes, I'm covering Lord Byron's 'She Walks in Beauty'," Ian answered. "It will put the 'romantic' in romanticism for all of the Valentines in class."

"I certainly hope none of the gushing will be over you, m'lad." Quinn dipped a proprietary thumb into Ian's dimple. He still had unpleasant memories of Armie Huxley kissing Ian in an excess of exuberance over his high-bar routine from last April.

"Not a chance." Ian grinned at him. "The kids are still talking about the thunderous look you gave Hux even now."

"It's always better to nip that sort of thing in the bud." Quinn gave a snorfle of laughter. "The fact that Luke is such a hotbed of gossip actually helps us do it."

Ian looked at the treats on the coffee table -- their cocoa was only half-finished, as were the brownies. They had become so wrapped up in the skating that they'd neglected their snack. "Let's make some fresh cocoa to go with the rest of these brownies."

"Good idea." Quinn winked at him. "Hot chocolate should be hot by definition," he intoned pedantically, then let out a snort.

While Ian stretched beside him, Quinn got up from the couch and offered him a hand. He pulled his herven up and into his arms, giving him a kiss infused with cocoa and butterscotch. It was a wonder Quinn remembered to take in the tray after that.

Ian used the dimmer knob to turn the lights down low, so the puppies might be able to sleep through part two of their dads' snack. He prepared hot chocolate, grinning when Quinn poured it into their mugs and added a snowfall of mini-marshmallows, which partly melted into the cocoa. Ian didn't forget the finishing touch -- a splash of spiced rum.

The men sat down at the kitchen table, glad that they could sleep in tomorrow morning, since it was a Sunday. It was already 11:18, and they wouldn't be ready for bed anytime soon, especially after the sugar rush of their snack. Now they could pay proper attention to their food, with no quadruple jumps or Biellmann spins to distract them.

Sure enough, Quinn was already halfway through with his second brownie, not to mention spooning up the marshmallows in his cocoa at a pace Sandy would envy. Ever since the puppies had acquired a taste for them, Ian kept them in a packet above the refrigerator, far from the reach of little paws.

And speaking of marshmallows...

Ian had put them back in the cabinet next to a whimsical gag gift, given to Quinn by Amy Walker. She had sent him some Lucky Charms in the new marshmallow-only box to celebrate Quinn's Irish heritage. He, in turn, was saving it to give to Lelia as an 'uncle gift' for Valentine's Day, since Lelia had been a fan of the cereal for years.

All of these treats must have inspired Quinn -- he took a spoonful of mini-marshmallows, motioning his laddie to do the same, and let them melt in his mouth. Then he slid his chair close to Ian's and leaned down for a truly sweet kiss, as their tongues searched for each trace of flavor.

Ian gave a gentle laugh. "We'll have to remember to brush our teeth tonight, no matter how tuckered we are."

"Must be losing my touch, lad, if you can think of practical considerations while I'm kissing you," said Quinn in mock-affront.

Ian hugged his husband closer to him. "You'll never lose your touch with me, ma gradh." So saying, he took Quinn's huge hand and pressed it to the side of his face.

Quinn brushed loving fingertips over Ian's cheek, in one of his favorite caresses, which always made Ian smile. "Ah, laddie. Who needs rum in the cocoa when I have you to intoxicate me?"

Ian reached up for another kiss, this time tasting only Quinn's flavor and enjoying it more than the tastiest dessert. They quickly got into it and savored kiss after kiss. If there were a gold medal in kissing at the PyeongChang Olympics, the professors would have won it easily, without a whisper of controversy in the judging. They'd definitely have earned a +3 in their Grade of Execution scores for their excellence. Add in enthusiasm and exuberance, and you have a pair of champions off the ice.

Let the Games begin!


End file.
